Margaret's Musings
by notsing
Summary: This started out as Margaret's thoughts on seeing Don with a gun for the first time.  It kind of spun out of control.  Sorry.  I don't own Numb3rs.


Margaret's Musing

It was late, or early, depending on your point of view. Margaret's eyes burned, and she knew she should try to get some sleep. But she couldn't bear to go back to bed yet. What was the point? She'd never sleep.

She took another sip of her herbal tea, hopeful it would do the trick and make her sleepy. Margaret wished she could turn her brain off. She thought she had been prepared, but how does one prepare? She wasn't ready to see her child armed.

A gun. He was carrying a gun now, and was, she knew, highly trained to use it. It shouldn't have been a shock, seeing it strapped to his waist, but it had been.

She remembered when he was a new-born, her little Donnie, and like all first-time mothers, she had anxiously examined his fingers and toes. She had put her finger in his palm, and his tiny hand had closed around it. Now that hand was full-grown and ready to close around a gun. Ready to pull the trigger. Ready to be put in a situation where he might HAVE to pull the trigger. The thought terrified her.

Margaret wanted to change it somehow. Get Don to change his mind and go back to baseball, or go to law school; something, ANYTHING, that wouldn't require him to carry a gun.

She felt betrayed and angry, it wasn't suppose to be this way. This isn't what she had planned. What was it John Lennon had said? 'Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.' But what right did she have to make life plans for Don? No parent could, or at least should, control their child's life. And she, perhaps, had less right than most parents to have much say in her first-born's life.

If Don had betrayed her in joining the FBI, Margaret had betrayed him years earlier by virtually abandoning him in favor of Charlie.

What did she expect? That Don was just going to wait patiently for his mother to get back to him? _Just put yourself on hold, sweetie, while I spend the next eighteen years raising your younger, smarter brother._

Maybe betrayal was too strong a word anyway. It was emotionally charged, bringing up visions of Benedict Arnold. It was more that she had let Don down, and she was . . . disappointed. Oh not in Don, just in life, in general. She had had all these plans and they were wasted now; it served her right.

Margaret supposed the word 'betrayal' came to mind because that's how Alan felt. His son was a fed! It was funny really, two peace activists raising a federal agent. They had never been hippies really, they were too old. Alan and Margaret were the older, idealistic siblings of the hippies. They were part of the clean-cut 'Kennedy kids' generation.

They had believed they were going to change the world, starting with integrating their own country. Whether Mississippi liked it or not Negroes (no one said blacks back then) were going to vote! After the Civil Rights Act was passed, they went on to protest the war, and to fight for women's rights.

Alan and Margaret had fought and protested against their own government and one of the biggest symbols of the 'establishment' had been J. Edgar. Of course Hoover was long dead, but his agency lived on. And now Don worked for that agency.

She and Alan got ragged on for it. Her brother Tommy had openly laughed. Old friends gave them pitying looks, "Oh my God! Donnie's a fed?" That had infuriated both Alan and Margaret. They refused to be ashamed of Don. There was nothing WRONG with Don being a FBI agent after all. It was just unexpected.

But that wasn't why Margaret felt betrayed anyway. It was just. . . she finally had time for Don, was actually going to concentrate on Don, and. . . Don wasn't there. It was like he had said, "Oh, you mean you finally have time for me? Well, guess what? I don't have time for you." Margaret knew that wasn't fair, to either Don or herself. She hadn't been that bad of a mother, and Don hadn't joined the FBI out of spite.

Still, what one knew intellectually,and what one felt emotionally, weren't always the same thing.

Margaret sighed. Maybe she was just suffering from empty-nest syndrome. After all, she had spent years obsessed with Charlie and his education. Now Charlie was firmly launched into both academia and adulthood, and Margaret felt a void in her life. She had assumed she and Alan would be going to Donnie's games and cheering him on.

She had to wince at that thought. What? Had Donnie been nothing more than her back-up plan after Charlie didn't need her any more? It hadn't been like that, it really hadn't!

It was just. . . Margaret was so aware of all she had missed. She wanted to stop MISSING Don's life. All of the games she hadn't gone to when he was a child because she needed to take Charlie to some tutor. She had felt bad, but thought she could always go at some later date. It never occurred to her there wouldn't be any games for her to go to later.

She remembered once, when Don was about nine he had been excited, bouncing around, chattering about the up-coming game and obviously believing she was going to be there. Margaret had stared at him, bewildered, and finally said, "Donnie, WHAT are you talking about? I can't go to the game! I'm taking Charlie to the tutor's."

Donnie had faltered, then looked crushed, "But you PROMISED you would come to one game this year!"

"Well, I can't go today! I'm too busy. I'll go some other day."

"There won't be any other day! Today's the last game. You PROMISED!"

"Donnie, I'm sorry, but not today! Now stop pestering me!" Feeling guilty, she added gently, "I'll make it up to you. I promise, okay?"

Donnie, deflated, nodded and turned away.

Margaret, looking back, felt tears prick her eyes. She was pretty sure she broke the second promise just as she had the first.

She wondered, too late, why she had done that. It wouldn't have hurt to have occasionally cancelled Charlie's lessons in favor of one of Don's games. In fact, it would have done Charlie good to have had to step aside for his brother now and then. But at the time she hadn't seen it. Every single tutoring session had seemed of paramount importance.

Not that she regretted the time spent with Charlie of course, especially the years at Princeton. She and Charlie had formed a special bond, unique to the two of them.

Margaret and Charlie had to set up house, and establish a routine, separate from Alan and Don. Don stayed in Pasadena with his father. Don HAD to commute. With two kids in college, and maintaining two households, they couldn't afford room and board charges for Don as well.

So Alan and Don had stayed home, while Margaret and Charlie adjusted to New Jersey.

Margaret and Charlie decided that Saturdays would be devoted to exploring the East Coast. Sometimes they made short jaunts to nearby parks and sights, and other times they took longer overnight trips. They visited New York City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and made their way down to D.C.

Margaret read up on the American Revolution, and drug Charlie to historic sites, insisting he needed to learn something besides math. But Charlie, being Charlie, always managed to slip math in some way.

They also experienced New Jersey's weather. Autumn was a delight. The air was crisp, and the foliage magnificent. The leaves were vivid colors of reds, oranges and yellows. Margaret took pictures and sent them back to California, but they didn't do justice to the reality.

Margaret and Charlie discovered the Appalachian Trail, and a mutual love of hiking. They carved a jack-o-lantern, and even though they had always had one in Pasadena, in  
Princeton it seemed more . . . authentic, some how.

When fall slid into winter, the two of them waited impatiently for their first snow. There were a few flurries that got their hopes up, but then the snow fizzled away. Then one Saturday, all day long, people kept gesturing to the sky, saying, "Looks like snow." Margaret and Charlie had dutifully looked at the sky, saying, "It does?" That night the sky had been a strange rosy gray, and Sunday morning they woke up to several inches of snow. Excited, they had bundled up and rushed outside. Only to be disappointed, because when they picked up the snow it slid through their hands like dry sand.

When Margaret complained to a co-worker at the small law office she worked at, the other woman had reassured her, "Don't worry. We'll have a good packing snow soon." Margaret wondered what packing snow was. She found out when it snowed again, and she and Charlie hopefully ventured out. This snow was wetter, and it did, indeed, pack.

Margaret and Charlie made their first ever snowman. Charlie, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy, had happily posed for a picture next to it. Then they had a snowball fight. Afterwards, they went inside and drank hot chocolate. They now believed they were 'seasoned' in experiencing winter. They were deluding themselves.

They were unprepared for how long winter lasted, and how unrelenting it was. They were unprepared in other ways as well, starting with their wardrobes. In addition to the parkas, scarves, hats, gloves and boots they had already bought, they needed lots more sweaters, warmer socks and long-johns!

Charlie had complained about the long underwear at first, until he realized how warm it kept him when he dashed between buildings going to classes. He good-naturedly posed for another picture, clad only in his long skivvies, and Don had written back that 'Chuck looked geekier than ever'.

In addition to unaccustomed clothing, they also had to learn new skills. Margaret and Charlie learned to walk gingerly accross ice, and to plow through deep snow. Margaret had never driven on ice before, and was scared spitless to find herself going sideways down a street. Luckily, she managed not to hit anything.

After the novelty of building a snowman wore off, the two of them got really sick of the snow. Unfortunately, the duplex they were renting didn't have a garage, so Margaret had to scrape and defrost her car. Their duplex DID have a long driveway, so she bought snow-shovels to clear it. Who knew snow could be so heavy?

But it was the unrelenting COLD that bothered Margaret and Charlie the most. They were constantly shivering, huddling over heat sources. They were not used to piling on heavy coats, scarfs, hats, gloves, and boots just to poke their noses out the door.

Both Margaret and Charlie were ready for the end of winter long before it was over. Then nature gave them two highly treasured gifts. The first came on a Febuary night, when Margaret looked outside, and noted, drearily, that it was snowing again. But when she caught a glimpse of glitter in the streetlight, she was curious enough to slip out to investigate, and realized this snow was different from any other she had thus far experienced.

The flakes were huge, as big as half-dollars, and floated gently as feathers. On the ground they sparkled and glittered as if some fairy had sprinkled pixie dust. It was indescribly beautiful, transforming the neighborhood into a winter-wonderland.

It was almost Charlie's bedtime, but Margaret insisted he go outside with her to witness this magical transformation with her. At first, he had babbled on about crystals and the arrangement of atoms, before falling silent under the same spell as his mother. The two of them had bundled up and went for a long night walk, marvelling in the unexpected beauty.

The second gift came about a month later, when Margaret was hurrying to work one morning and longing for spring, and she saw a splash of color near the front step. Thinking it was a piece of trash, she stooped down to pick it up, and saw that it was a flower. There, insanely, in the snow, was a flower. Crocus, her clever mind identified, while she stared in wonder. She had read about this, seen pictures, but it wasn't until that moment that she actually GOT it. She shared the flower with Charlie, and saw the same wonder on his face. She took a picture, and tried to explain in a letter to Alan and Don how the flower made her feel, but she knew they wouldn't get it.

"You have to experience the night to appreciate the dawn," her grandmother used to say, and Margaret understood. To really enjoy spring, you need to struggle through winter. Margaret and Charlie slugged through the hard, cold winter together, and gloried in the renewal of spring together.

Neither mother nor son had ever appreciated spring more. The crocus was followed by tulips and daffodils, as the snow slowly melted. One day, they suddenly realized everything was GREEN. Almost overnight, the world went from drab and dreary to lush.

It was another bond between them that excluded both Alan and Don. It never occurred to her that it went both ways.

She and Charlie went back west for the summer of course, and were releaved to pull into the driveway of the craftsman. Only Alan was home. He said Don was helping Joe with a flat tire. Who was Joe?

"You don't know him. Nice kid. He and Donnie have become pretty good friends this year."

Don soon came home, exclaiming, "Momsie-baby! Good to see you!" with a bear-hug. He ruffled Charlie's curls, "Hey Buddy!"

Then, hopefully, ever the Eppes male, "Dad said we would go out to eat? Steak?"

They had rib-eyes, reconnecting. It was the next morning when the first shock came. Margaret had gotten up first, and after turning on the coffee-pot, decided to make pancakes. She hadn't made them since last summer, and she was sure Don was hungry for them. But when she went to get out the ingredients, she couldn't find anything.

Margaret stood in HER kitchen, stunned, wondering what had happened. Alan came in, asking, "What should I make for breakfast?" Then, seeing Margaret, he had stopped in surprise.

"Uh. . . I guess you'll be making breakfast."

Before Margaret could reply, Don breezed in, "Hey Pops! What's for breakfast? Man, do I need coffee."

Coffee? how long had Don been drinking coffee? And why didn't anyone tell his mother? She opened her mouth to ask, and instead blurted out, "Everything's different! I can't find anything!"

Alan and Don exchanged glances. "Uh, yeah," said Alan sheepishly. "I rearranged things to make it easier for me. But we can change it back!" he added hastily.

"That's okay," she lied. Then, trying to sound cheerful, she added, "I thought I'd make pancakes."

Don pulled a face, "We had those yesterday."

Margaret stared at Alan, "You make pancakes?"

"I've learned to make pancakes," said Alan, proudly. "But. . .uh. . .the first time they didn't come out so great."

Don snorted, "That's an understatement!" He and Alan burst into laughter, obviously at a shared memory.

Margaret stood in her rearranged kitchen, watching her husband and son laugh over a memory that didn't include her.

She wasn't petty! It was not only fair, but a good thing that they had bonded over. . . pancakes, while she and Charlie bonded over brightly-colored leaves, snowman, magical snowy nights and the first flower of spring.

It just caught her by surprise, and she realized, too late, that she didn't have any special bonds just between her and Don.

Now he was a federal agent, and her chances for a special bond were slim to none.

When Margaret felt a hand on her shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Sorry Momsie-baby! I didn't mean to startle you," apologized Don. Then, seeing her cup, he grinned, "You couldn't sleep either, huh? Herbal tea and cinnamon toast?"

Margaret suddenly remembered when Donnie was about eight, and scratched at her bedroom door late one night. She slipped out of bed, gently scolding, "Shhh-don't wake Daddy or Charlie. Why are you awake? Are you sick?"

He shook his head, "No. I just can't sleep. I've tried and tried, but I'm still awake."

Margaret hesitated, looking at his hopeful face, expecting that she could somehow fix this.

"How about a midnight snack?" she suggested. "Herbal tea and cinnamon toast?"

Don's face brightened at the idea, and he had asked anxiously, "Just you and me? Not Daddy and Charlie too?"

"Just you and me," she agreed. The two of them had snuck down the stairs, enjoyed their secret treat, and then she tucked Donnie back into bed.

For years afterwards, Don had regularly scratched on her door every few months, and she knew it was time for another midnight raid on the kitchen. She never shared this with Alan or Charlie. It belonged to her and Don alone.

It had been ages since they had shared a midnight snack together, but there was no time like the present to renew old bonds.

"Cinnamon toast and tea," Margaret laughed. "Sit down. I'll make you some." With her heart considerably lighter, she went into her permanently rearranged kitchen to prepare it.


End file.
